The others are gathered with smiles, just wanting to chat about the good deal they nabbed and the house renovations they completed over the weekend. I'm not into it. I can see all of their mouths moving but I'm not absorbing anything. I offer a half hearted smile every once in a while to acknowledge their presence, but my foot is nervously shaking under my desk as I try to muster every bit of magical power I have to make them disappear. I am casting full on Hocus Pocus spells in my mind.
It's not working. They're still talking. I can hear laughs across the office and I'm wondering why everyone is so happy today. Did everyone forget that it's Monday? Everybody knows that Monday's are for frowning and being tired and complaining. Duh!
I feel guilty, really, for being so uninterested. "Be present with them," I tell myself, "give them your full attention". I'm not great at that. But sometimes I just can't be fully there. I just need a minute to regroup, ya know? A little time to remind my pea size noggin what it's supposed to be doing.
(My mind is still stuck at Saturday night's farm party and my sluggish body remains at the thanksgiving feast I shared with friends yesterday. A combination of these weekend events is surely to blame for why I'm walking with a limp. And yes I devoured that ham on the right. And the corn casserole. And
*****
I've always been the kind of person who thrives on social interaction. It usually doesn't bother me when coworkers want to stop and chat. I love the ins and outs. My dream is to be that mom with that house that all the neighborhood kids bust in and out of. The one with all the sodas and sweets and breakable stuff that the other moms boycott. I like the busyness of it all. I like to cram lots of stuff in a day. Let's go here and there for this and that and then of course I can have lunch with you and sure i can fit in another counseling session before 2 and oh you need me to pick up your kid from school no problem and I need to go to the grocery and make that pie and I'm sure I have time to drive to Birmingham to pick up that chair I saw on craigslist and then be back in time for that baby shower before I have to get to my dentist appointment.
I enjoy the go, go, go.. but I can only take so much. If I've learned anything about myself it's that I require a healthy dose of downtime. I'm a better me when I can steal some time for recharging.
As a grief counselor, I walk with people through some of life's darkest and heaviest moments. It's an honor, really, but somedays its hard. They leave and I cry. I sometimes wonder how in the world I'm supposed to help them. They look to me for strength and I look at them as strength. What in the world do I have to offer them? I slide down the back of my office door in between clients and I beg for 10 minutes of silence. That brief moment of stillness before the next client comes in is like a big ole bear hug to me. I have to have it.
Sometimes, like today, it means locking myself in the supply closet and counting to 100. As I exit, explaining to the questioning eyes that I was "uhh.. just looking for some staples", I feel new and refreshed and light.
Because when days are long and schedules are full and life is loud, sometimes all you need is a space just quiet enough to hear a whisper.
A whisper that reminds you that you can't do it all. You don't have to do it all. That your mind was only meant to know and absorb so much. That you don't have to carry the weight of the day. That you aren't a horrible friend when you don't listen to every detail of her weekend adventure. That the world won't end because you forgot to tell your best friend Happy Anniversary. That the dry cleaner won't sue you if you forget to pick up your clothes before five. That you don't have to fix everyones problems.. or anyones for that matter.
A whisper that reminds you that you're beautiful. That you are enough. That you don't have to feel guilty for needing space to breathe.
When things get crazy and loud, when mouths are moving but you can't hear a word, when you want to dropkick the next person who comes in your office? I hope you'll find a bathroom or a closet or a quiet car and listen for the whisper:
Slow down. It's ok. You weren't made to do it all.
As you prepare your home for the gathering of family and load your car to travel to see those for which you are thankful, I hope you'll find freedom in that quiet voice.
Some of you are going to be alone or away from the ones you love. Maybe there will be an empty chair at your table representing loss or failure. Or maybe family time means frustrated chaos and complicated emotions. If that's you, I pray you'll find freedom and rest in knowing the world will go on when you can't.
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